Sleepyhead
by o0shithappens0o
Summary: After the exhausting events of Dark Cybertron, Prowl and Arcee reconcile while trying to get some rest. Some circumstances however should've been brought to light...


**Notes:  
** This is based on a personal headcanon. Prowl's characterisation isn't my forte, so forgive me if he comes off as slightly OOC.  
Warning for pseudoscience.

~~o~~

"So these are your quarters?" A whistle of awe. "Spacious. Must feel empty on your own."

Ignoring the backhanded compliment, Prowl didn't see anything remarkable about his choice of living. Yes, he has a panorama view over Iacon, a generously large washrack that could house a triplechanger and a holovid screen covering an entire wall. But they all filled their intended purposes.

Arcee had navigated through the sea of datapads past the hab suite doors. She was lounging across his berth. "Dibs for recharge!"

"What makes you think you can claim my berth?"

She scrunches her face up in thought before addressing him. "Yours is nicer."

Prowl pinches his nasal bridge.

"My suggestion goes like this; we can both fit. Poof! End of our predicament."

He raises an optical ridge. "Since when is this 'our' predicament?"

"Unless you'd rather take the floor instead."

The berth has plenty of space for two bots. Prowl studies the unoccupied part, weighing the pros and cons.

"My mind is too drained to deal with you. Fine, we will share."

Settling on his side with his face against her to keep the doorwings away, Prowl tries his best to bury the discomfort. This was his quarters, and nothing about this situation was wrong after all.

"Don't let the berthbugs bite!"

"I assure you, the hygienic condition of my hab suite is up to standard."

* * *

 ** _"Sir, the CNA strand has started to assimilate the synthetic peptide."_**

 ** _"Well done. The procedures have gone much smoother than what I had anticipated. Our subject's spark and body has proven significantly more resilient than previous experiments. We are well on our way to a breakthrough."_** **Through the numbing haze of pain, a face came into view.** ** _"I shall remain ever thankful, Arcee, to you and your..._** **volunteering** ** _."_**

"I NEVER DID!"

The stillness is broken by a wail of anguish, echoing across the room. A lithe form is drawn tight like a string, fans expelling air rapidly.

Another bad memory purge. The third in an orn, to be exact.

 _Why? Why does the image of him still haunt me?_

Frustrated with herself and everything, Arcee unplugs the recharge cable from her neck and sits up on the berthslab, hydraulics protesting against the movement.

Another restless night. She didn't have many alternatives besides strolling around Iacon.

Her gaze travels down to the expanse of her leg. Part of her wants to deny it, but the 'Con medic had done a good job patching up her injuries as well as reassembling and attaching the new pede. No failed neural connections or twinges of lingering pain.

 _What was his name again? Sharpline?_

Accidentally nudging said pede against familiar metal, she turns to study the shape of her current berth partner.

Even now, the facial features of the mech are schooled into a frown, lips curled downward. It takes a lot of willpower to hold back the snicker bubbling up her throat.

So much had happened since the arrival of Megatron to the eclipse of Shockwave's Judgment Day. She had managed to prove herself to hardened Autobots like Sideswipe and the Dynobots, but what really stood out was the relationship now forged with the officer. Used to being ostracised and challenged, someone who recognised her abilities and saw past the history of rampage felt so rare, she hardly knew what to call this new connection between them. A pact? A friendship?

Pushing those thoughts away, she gazes down at Prowl once again.

Strange. His biolights seem to be turned off, no gentle flow of red that usually signalled his collected state.

She raises the sensitivity of her EM field. No rhythmic fluctuations either...

A sliver of fear.

Something was clearly not right. Is he offlining? Have his internal systems collapsed? Arcee was no expert in medicine, and only knew the most basic forms of aid.

If only she could remember any of her past berthmates' recharge patterns...

Scrambling closer, she pinches the delicate edge of his chevron, hoping the stimuli will jolt him conscious. No reaction. She feels around his fans, seeing if there's something blocking.

Growing increasingly frantic, she grabs his shoulder pauldrons and starts shaking him.

 _Do not die on me do not die on me I wasn't prepared scrapscrapscrap he was hiding wounds from us stubborn idiot what will I-_

A wave of EM field flickers against hers. Tension, anxiety. The faintest twitch of his optical ridges.

Means there must be a bad memory purge. He's in recharge.

Her legs crumple beneath her, landing ungracefully on the slab which does nothing to stir the black and white mech.

 _He's just in recharge._ Relief hit her like the blast from a fusion cannon.

* * *

When Prowl finally onlines his systems, the sun is high in the sky and beaming through the glass panels. Confiding his internal chronometer, it turns out he'd been resting way past noon.

Curious. Usually his processors would reboot earlier.

He finds the space to his left void of a certain femme. Shuttering his optics, he tries to recall today's lists of missions. Were there any reports that Prime needed a full account of? Should he get a hold of those unruly Constructicons?

Just as he entertains the idea of falling back to recharge, the slab shifts beneath him.

The pink femme is sitting curled up on the end of the berth, optics keen like she's trying to burn a hole through the wall.

Realisation dawns upon him.

"It's... always been like that. Ever since a hundred millennia ago."

No response.

He sighs. "My brain module and mods require a thorough defrag every decacycle. Eventually I'm brought out of it, and all I need to do is consume two extra cubes of energon."

Yellow optics glance over to regard him, before returning to the wall.

Resigning himself to being further neglected, Prowl slowly starts moving away, to which an objection is uttered beside him.

He stays put. Waiting.

The silence feels deafening.

A pink fist clangs against his shoulder plating, leaving an echo behind and ache he hardly registers.

"That's for making me worry."

Her mouth parts in an awkward grin. As much of an open, reassuring response as she can give.

"Never really been a fan of surprises. So let's keep them to a minimum, okay?"

He hesitates before nodding. "Of course."

If anyone deserves his disclosure, it's her after all.


End file.
